


The Pigeon

by FreckleLemonade



Category: The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Attempt at Humor, Cute, F/M, Fluff and Humor, One Shot, Short, Silly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-23
Updated: 2016-07-23
Packaged: 2018-07-26 05:11:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 849
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7561702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FreckleLemonade/pseuds/FreckleLemonade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint finds an injured pigeon and needs your help with it...</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Pigeon

**Author's Note:**

> Just a lil quick-write story I did before bed. Hope you like it! <3
> 
> (( (Y/n) = Your name ))

It was your day off today and you were planning on staying in your soft, warm bed for as long as humanly possible. You snuggled deeper into your blankets and sighed contentedly. You were just dozing off again when you heard your name being called, followed by footsteps. Before you could even move, your bedroom door was flung open and the light was turned on, practically blinding you. You groaned and buried your head in your pillow.

"(Y/n), wake up. I need your help with something."

You groaned again but turned over and opened one eye in the direction of the voice. A male figure walked through your door and came to a halt in front of you. It belonged to Clint Barton. 

"What do you want?" you mumbled groggily.

He was carrying a small cardboard box in his hands and looked a little worried. You sighed and forced yourself to leave the comfortable warmth of your bed. You sat on the edge and stretched.

"So where's the fire, Clint?" you asked, rubbing the sleep out of your eye.

"Here," he said, shoving the box under your nose.

Inside, laid a very disgruntled-looking pigeon. Its grey feathers were ruffled and it peered up at you suspiciously with its amber-coloured eye. You noticed right away that its wing was sitting at a weird angle.

"Where'd you get it?" you asked, "Is it hurt?"

"Yeah, I found it laying on the roof this morning. Its wing is busted. I know how to fix it but I can't hold it and wrap it at the same time so I need an extra pair of hands. You, Tony, and I are the only ones home today. I tried to ask Tony already but he just rolled his eyes and called it a 'rat with wings.'"

"He's not wrong," you mumbled to yourself, still a little bitter about being woken up early on your day off.

Clint just glared at you for a second before turning his attention back to the injured bird in the box.

"So, can you give me a hand? Please?" he pleaded.

You did your best to avoid his eyes but failed. You had one weakness: puppy-dog eyes. You couldn't resist them and you knew that you especially stood no chance against Clint's greeny-blue eyes. He was too good at that look and it got you every time. One glance at him was all it took. The next thing you knew, you were seated at the kitchen table, still in your pyjamas, holding a fidgety, injured pigeon.

"How do you always manage to rope me into these things?" you grumbled.

"My charm and good looks, obviously," he said with a grin.

You snorted but said nothing.

"Okay, hold it still," he instructed, holding up the strip of cotton gauze, "Hold the other wing out so that it doesn't get wrapped up too, okay?"

"Got it," you said, trying to do exactly what he had told you.

After about twenty minutes of wrapping and re-wrapping the squirming pigeon, it was finally done. Now the bird just had to rest up and get better. You slumped back in your chair and sighed. You looked over at Clint, ready to complain at him once more, but stopped. He was gently stroking the bird's back with a smile on his face. He looked so happy and kind of... adorable.

He looked over at you and his smile faded.

"You're bleeding," he pointed to your hand.

You looked down and saw that there was indeed a bit of blood coming from a small scratch on your hand.

"It must have gotten me with its claws or something," you said, shrugging it off, "I'm sure I'll live."

"Here, let me put something on it. I don't want it getting infected."

He grabbed a small bottle of rubbing alcohol from the pile of supplies on the table and soaked a cotton ball with it. He carefully took your hand in his and dabbed at the scratch with the concentration of a surgeon. It stung a little but you were too busy realizing how close he was to you. You noticed all kinds of things that you had never noticed about him before. He frowned a little as he focused. He smelled woodsy, like pine trees and campfire smoke. The corners of his eyes crinkled a little when he smiled at you.

"Okay," he said, snapping you out of your thoughts, "All done."

You looked down and saw a band-aid placed neatly over the spot where the scratch was.

"Thanks," you said.

"You're welcome. Thanks for helping me, too."

You shrugged and replied, "It wasn't exactly how I was planning on spending my day off, but it was kind of fun, I guess."

He smiled at you once more.

"Oh, I almost forgot," he exclaimed, "Now that its wing is on the mend..."

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a couple of fat, wriggling, pink earthworms.

"...We just have to feed it!"

You immediately got up and left the table.

"Not happening, Clint."

"But--"

"Nope."

**Author's Note:**

> Finally, something other than Steve and Bucky. It's a miracle, haha!   
> Not to worry, though, because there's more Bucky coming soon! ;)
> 
> As always, feedback is appreciated! <3


End file.
